


In the Wake of Defeat

by orphan_account



Series: Sweet Caroline (Do Do Dooo) [4]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Andrei is a Good Boyfriend, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Soft Hockey Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 17:37:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18782965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “I’m sorry, solntse,” he says, and it’s not what he’d intended, not even really what he’d been feeling since the game ended, but it slips out anyways, and Andrei’s lips twist.“For what?”“For everything."





	In the Wake of Defeat

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction, and I make no profit for it.
> 
> This is part of the Sweet Caroline universe but can be read as a standalone. Set after Game 1 of the Eastern Conference Final.
> 
> I was not happy with that first game, so this happened.

Once the media’s finally cleared out, gone to spin their stories, there’s an almost suffocating silence in the locker room. Jaws are clenched; heads are bowed. Those who haven’t yet showered shuffle through without saying much, and Willy makes his rounds, patting some heads and offering quiet words of reassurance and encouragement to anyone willing to listen. Even Marty is unusually subdued, slapping backs and high-fiving with less enthusiasm than normal.

Dougie sits in his stall, furious. Quiet but furious. He’s angry with the calls, angry with himself for not being smarter, angry with the fans for being as shitty as he’d expected, and stark raving mad at Sean fucking Kuraly for bracing for a hit instead of trying to avoid one.

He tugs his shoes on with more violence than is probably necessary and ignores the concerned look Slavs shoots him.

When it’s time to board the bus, he makes his way to the last row and drops into a window seat, eyes firmly fixed on some irrelevant point outside the window. He doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to hear coach or Willy or anyone else tell him that it was unlucky or unfortunate but that it can’t be changed. He knows that, understands it, even told the goddamn press that it was something to move past rather than focus on.

He knows that, but there’s an electric anger zipping through him, and he just wants to get back to his room where he can stew without worrying about going off on an unsuspecting and undeserving teammate.

Someone slides into the seat beside him, and he considers telling them to kindly fuck off, but he’s still working on how to say it without being a total dick when fingers skate over the back of his hand and slip between his own. They squeeze once, light and easy, and Dougie doesn’t turn, but he can see Andrei out of the corner of his eye, facing the front of the bus and watching Ginner and Marty jockey for a seat.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at Dougie, but his hand is a steady presence for the drive back to the hotel, and when they begin to file out, he doesn’t let go until he has to, looking reluctant when he finally relinquishes Dougie’s hand to step out into the cool Boston air.

Inside, there’s not enough space on the elevators for everyone at once, so Dougie steps aside and isn’t sure how he feels when Andrei does as well, standing close enough for Dougie to feel the heat of him all down his side. He offers no explanation, no reassurances or criticisms, and Dougie doesn’t know what to make of it.

Only a couple other guys remain, the captain and alternates, one of the managers, and they wait in silence, only the ding of the elevator breaking the stilted quiet.

“Fucking shitty game,” Faulker finally says when they’ve all boarded and the doors have slid shut.

“We had it,” Jordo agrees. “We had it, but that third period, man. Bullshit all around.”

Faulker nods in agreement. “How you feeling, Svechy? That was a nasty hit no matter what the refs say.”

“I’m good,” Andrei answers. “Probably be sore in the morning, might have bruise, but I’m good.”

“Can’t believe that wasn’t at least a minor,” Faulker grumbles darkly, and everyone nods. Dougie grits his teeth.

There’s a ping, and the doors slide open on their floor, the hallway stretching out in both directions. They head to their rooms, each guy muttering a goodnight as he peels away from the group until it’s just Dougie and Andrei.

“Night,” Dougie mumbles, but Andrei doesn’t budge. He turns to eye him warily. “Do you need something?” he asks and winces when it comes out harsher than he’d intended.

“Open the door, Dougie,” Andrei tells him, face a blank mask.

“I don’t…god, I know this makes me an awful person, but I really don’t want to talk tonight.”

“I don’t want to talk either.”

“You—? Seriously? After that shit show of a game?”

“No, not want that either.”

Dougie’s brow furrows. “Then what do you want?” he asks, incredulous, and Andrei rolls his eyes.

“Just open the door.”

There’s a protest on the tip of his tongue, pressing at the back of his teeth, but he bites down. It would be selfish to turn Andrei away, and he’d probably just feel worse watching him walk back to his own room alone. Sighing, he inserts the key into the lock and pushes the door open when the light flashes green, Andrei just behind him.

Their shoes thump against the ground as they pull them off, leaving a heap beside the door, and Dougie doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Barefoot, Andrei strides across the room, fingers working at his collar, and drops his shirt and then his slacks to the floor without a thought. He flings himself onto the bed, rolling over to prop himself up on his elbows.

“Come here," he says and extends a hand in invitation.

A nearly naked Andrei is never a bad sight, though Dougie can’t manage much more than an appreciative sweep of the eyes and a weak stirring of arousal. “I thought you didn’t want to have sex.”

“I don’t, but I do want sleep with you.”

Dougie lets out a measured breath. “Does Foegs know you’re staying here tonight?”

“Yes, I tell him in locker room, but even if I not tell, he know I’m be here.”

Dougie shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and Andrei sighs.

“Take your clothes off, _lyubimiy_.”

“Bossy,” Dougie comments, but he reaches up to unfasten his buttons.

Andrei smirks, hitching a leg up so it’s bent at the knee, abdominals flexing beautifully. “You like.”

“I do.”

The smirk fades into something softer, endeared. “Yes, now hurry up. I’m cold.”

Dougie huffs a laugh. “You’re the one who wanted to get naked,” he points out, pulling his belt out of the loops and sliding his zipper down.

Andrei shrugs, and in his position, it turns strangely sensual. “Don’t need clothes when have you keep me warm.”

Shirt and slacks discarded, Dougie steps near and makes to climb on next to Andrei, but he sits up quickly and shuffles to the foot of the bed, hands reaching out to curl around Dougie’s hips, knees slotting around his thighs. He looks up at Dougie, all deep brown eyes and tousled hair, thumbs stroking over his hipbones, and he bends forward to press a soft kiss to Dougie’s sternum.

“But—”

Andrei shushes him, then plants another kiss right beside the first, lips barely leaving the skin as he traces a path across Dougie’s chest. He works slowly, breath steady and warm, peppering every inch of skin he can reach with a delicate kiss, and Dougie lets him, hands hanging limply at his side because he doesn’t know what this is, but he doesn’t want it to stop, doesn’t want to make Andrei think he’s not enjoying it.

When he finally pulls back and smiles up at Dougie, he can’t help but reach out and cradle Andrei’s cheeks, hands a little unsteady as he holds him.

“I’m sorry, _solntse_ ,” he says, and it’s not what he’d intended, not even really what he’d been feeling since the game ended, but it slips out anyways, and Andrei’s lips twist.

“For what?”

“For everything. For not playing harder, for putting myself in the position to take some shitty penalties, for letting you take a hit that should have gotten Kuraly out of the game or at least in the box.”

Andrei tuts, hands lifting to fold around Dougie’s. “You played good, very good. Refs…maybe made bad calls, but you can’t know when they do that and can’t change how play for that. Penalties not great, but power play kill not great, too.” He hooks an ankle around Dougie’s leg and pulls him closer. “And there was nothing to do for Kuraly. Was bad hit? Yes, he should have move, should have try stop, but he didn’t.”

“Yeah, and if I hadn’t taken that fucking roughing penalty, then they probably would have called something on him, but since that happened first, they just brushed it off once you got up.”

Andrei shrugs. “Happen in hockey sometimes.”

“No,” Dougie objects, hard and fast. “You just—” his voice cracks, and he stops to breathe for a minute, fighting to see past the tears gathering in his eyes. “You just came back,” he says, voice choked. “This was only your third game back from a head injury, and I saw Kuraly hit you, and I was so worried. God, fuck, I just…all I could think about was you going down against Ovechkin and being out for two weeks, and I didn’t want that to happen again, and then they called a fucking penalty on me, and Kuraly just skated over to the bench like nothing had happened.”

Andrei loops his arms around Dougie’s waist and pulls him into a hug, head resting on his chest, and Dougie sags into it, tired and wrung-out from the anger and adrenaline and fear. They hold each other in silence, Dougie slowing his breaths to match Andrei’s, in then out, in then out.

“Is not your fault, _lyubimiy,_ ” Andrei whispers. “Not with Ovechkin, not with Kuraly.”

Dougie presses closer, arms tightening around Andrei’s shoulders. “I hate watching you get hurt. I know that injuries can happen. We’re professional athletes; it’s part of the job. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“No,” Andrei agrees, “not have to like, but have to stay calm when it happen. The team still needs you, if I play or not. You have to stay focus on game; play good and win.”

“I’d rather win with you out on the ice,” Dougie murmurs almost viciously.

Andrei pulls back enough to smile brightly, a cockiness curling the corners of his mouth. “Obviously,” he says, and Dougie snorts.

“Obviously.”

Still grinning, Andrei slides a hand over the nape of his neck and pulls him down for a languid kiss, lips moving leisurely against his, relaxed and unhurried. Slowly, he bends back and Dougie follows, crawling over him to chase the taste of his mouth.

He can feel where Andrei is pressed against his thigh, half-interested, but he doesn’t seem concerned with moving beyond the kiss, nipping at Dougie’s lips and sliding his tongue out to soothe the sting. They barely move, bodies pressed close as they exchange long, sipping kisses that leave Dougie feeling dazed and slow.

He strokes a hand down Andrei’s side, tracing over the strong lines of bone and muscle, but Andrei stops him before he can go too far, intertwining their fingers and bringing them up to rest on one of the pillows, offering a gentle squeeze. Dougie pulls back and looks down at him, confused, but Andrei doesn’t say anything.

He lets Dougie look at him, lets him map out the familiar bow of his lips, the cut of his jaw, the less familiar scruff that’s trying it’s best to grow, and he doesn’t say a word, just lies back and lets Dougie look his fill.

“I love you,” Dougie breathes out into the couple inches that separate them. “I really, really love you.”

Andrei’s answering smile is brilliant, dimples carving deep lines into his face. “Love you,” he responds roughly, fingers tightening in Dougie’s grip.

They lie still, watching each other until Dougie ducks in for a last kiss before rolling to the side. Andrei whines, but when Dougie lays an arm out, open and inviting, he’s quick to scramble closer, flinging an arm and a leg over Dougie as he nuzzles into his neck.

“Tomorrow,” he says, breath rushing over Dougie’s collarbone, “maybe we go see Dori again. Cannoli make everything better.”

Dougie laughs. “If you’re lucky and very nice, she might even teach you how to make them.”

“I am very nice,” Andrei retorts. “Am always nice to you. Is why she already like me so much.”

“Oh, so you’re just using me to get to the cannoli.”

He can feel Andrei press a gentle kiss just below his ear. “No, like you more than cannoli, but like you with cannoli even more.”

Laughing, Dougie shakes his head and curls his arm tighter around Andrei’s waist. “I can’t argue with that.”

Andrei hums. “Now go to sleep. Maybe we wake up early enough to have fun in the morning.”

“Oh?”

“Da, I made sure pack lube in your bag before we leave.”

Dougie’s brow furrows. “In my bag? What? Where?”

“In top pocket inside,” Andrei answers. “I know you not use, so I stick lube there before we leave.”

“Why didn’t you just pack some in your own suitcase?”

He recoils minutely, and Dougie can feel him grimace. “Mama always want help when I pack. She fold stuff and make sure I have toothbrush, toothpaste, all that. No way I can sneak lube in suitcase.”

“But you wouldn’t even have to sneak it,” Dougie points out. “You’ve stayed over at my place plenty of times. There’s no way she doesn’t know we’re having sex.”

Andrei props himself up on an elbow, looking down at Dougie like he’s crazy. “Of course she know, but that not mean I want her see me pack lube. You want your mama watch you pack lube when she know you going to spend week at hotel with boyfriend?”

Dougie cringes at the thought.

“Exactly,” Andrei says smugly, bussing a kiss to Dougie’s cheek. “Mama knows, but she not need _know_.”

“So you packed it in my suitcase.”

“So I pack it in your suitcase.”

Dougie grins and tugs Andrei back down against him. “ _Ya lyublyu tebya, solntse.”_

 _“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu,”_ Andrei answers, snuggling into his side as they drift to sleep. 


End file.
